


Little Lenin's First and Last Christmas

by The_Carnivorous_Muffin



Series: Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Female Harry Potter, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Master of Death Harry Potter, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Carnivorous_Muffin/pseuds/The_Carnivorous_Muffin
Summary: Wizard Lenin tells Lily a vaguely warm hearted Christmas themed story.





	Little Lenin's First and Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory note that this one is... mostly canon. Details have changed since it's been posted but it is canon at its heart.

It was one of those nights in her head where they were both too exhausted to think. Formulas, equations, theories, proofs, and more had all been scribbled onto the many walls of her dream by a furiously writing Wizard Lenin until each was as illegible as the last. After a few hours of arguing, shouting, erasing, then writing again they had finally reached their daily limit and were lying on the floor staring at the ceiling and thinking about anything that didn’t involve alchemy.

 

“You know, I remember a time when sleeping wasn’t exhausting.” Lily commented drily and she thought it said a lot about Wizard Lenin’s present circumstances that he said nothing back.

 

She was beginning to hate that stone. It consumed Wizard Lenin and so in turn was devouring her from the feet up; only she wasn’t too far gone to care like Wizard Lenin. Every conversation they had somehow brought that rough red stone into it and a new scheme to get it working.

 

Sometimes though they both got sick of it.

 

She could tell by the lack of protest from Wizard Lenin when the walls began to drip into the floor so only blank white remained. Almost whimsically Christmas decorations crept in, brightly colored lights, holly and mistletoe hanging down from the ceiling, and the distant sound of caroling echoing softly.

 

“It’s not even Ellie Potter Day yet and you’ve already skipped forward to Christmas.” Wizard Lenin noted drily.

 

“I like Christmas.” Ellie Potter Day was interesting, not that she had ever gotten the opportunity to celebrate it between the Dursleys and Lily Riddle’s reputation in the wizarding world, but Christmas had always been brightly colored and shiny. She wouldn’t say she understood the true meaning of Christmas, which was often discussed in school, or even bought the whole Jesus thing at church but it was a nice holiday all the same.

 

Glancing over at Wizard Lenin she could tell he was unimpressed by her argument, but nonetheless a few more decorations were added until the room seemed almost homey. “Christmas, it has been a very long time since I ever seriously considered it.”

 

The idea of the young proletariat Wizard Lenin taking any form of religion seriously was a bit hard to process. He caught her raised eyebrows and overall dubious expression because he explained in a dry remark, “I’ll have you know that I did celebrate Christmas, once.”

 

He must have been tired then because his eyes went distant, the soft glaze of nostalgia painted over them, and a tired smile made its way onto his lips. It was staring at the ceiling, not at her, that he asked in a soft voice, “Have I ever told you about my first and last Christmas?”

 

Naturally the answer to this, like most questions dealing directly with Wizard Lenin’s past rather than very specific factual details or else vague opinions, was no. Wizard Lenin was a being shrouded in mystery, known details of his past standing out like islands on a great sea of history, and the prospect of discovering another island was very exciting.

 

Lily shook her head fervently which again caused that small smile as he looked at her. When he began to speak the lights dimmed slightly, so that the room was filled with a warmer and softer light and filled with Christmas.

 

“I was ten years old, almost eleven, and only a few months prior I had inexplicably become friends with a very odd girl with red hair. I never intended to be her friend and I doubt she intended to be mine.

 

Regardless, after ignoring, tormenting, and tolerating each other by Christmas I came at least to unconsciously consider her to be the only friend I’d ever had. I like to think she thought the same of me but it was always very difficult to tell what she was thinking.

 

She asked me early that December, breaking her long standing tradition of not asking me to do anything and barely tolerating my presence, to write a letter to Santa asking for one if not all of the following: ‘Tesla’s death ray, a time machine, the Millennium Falcon, and World Peace.’” Here Wizard Lenin paused an odd expression on his face as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, Lily had never done the Santa letter writing herself as the Dursleys weren’t keen on her asking for anything beyond her means, but she felt those were fairly reasonable demands to make.

 

In the meantime Wizard Lenin continued his tale of Christmas joy and laughter, “I’d long since lost what little faith I had in God and the even smaller amount I had in Saint Nicholas. God and the like don’t exist for orphans or abused children and as such I never felt the need to write anyone a letter or pray for anything. Even at that age I knew that anything I owned, earned, received would be by my own blood, sweat, and tears. There would never be any handouts for Tom Marvolo Riddle.

 

I pretty much said that exactly to her and this was the response I got.

 

‘Santa is totally real, Damion Prince of Darkness.’” He paused then, catching himself in the middle of his mimicry, which was oddly similar to the voice he used to mimic her and he looked over at her.

 

“She had a tendency to call me… Well I had something of a reputation at the orphanage and she took it very seriously.” He explained almost hesitantly and it was strange because emotions like embarrassment, sheepishness, and regret were very foreign to wizard Lenin but there was a slight flush on his cheeks as he attempted to explain his past.

 

“Like what?” Lily asked.

 

“Well there was a rabbit and… You know what it was a long time ago and it wasn’t important.” Wizard Lenin cut himself off abruptly running a hand through his hair and then glaring at her as if it was somehow her fault that he had to put this into words, “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

 

“No, story’s good.” Lily said hastily and Wizard Lenin sighed before continuing.

 

“I’m sure she imagined she had it all planned out and did not even consider the fact that I was going to say no.

 

‘If Santa is so real,’ I said to her, ‘Then how come I’ve never seen him or received anything.’

 

She looked at me, with this blank look that she always had, like the wheels in her head were spinning and spinning but without any tread, and she said, ‘Well, young antichrist, perhaps you simply haven’t been good enough.’

 

She’d been sitting on my bed when she suddenly stood and broke into a speech that sounded as if it should have been a monologue rather than someone talking to their friend, ‘When I was a slightly smaller person and lived with my abusive relatives I never received anything from Santa. I mean, I always assumed that he was just one of those things that people like to believe in for no reason whatsoever, like the sentience of the human race. But then, one year, he gave me a coat and some socks and I realized that I might have pissed Santa off in those years before and had just never realized it. Not enough to make him go out of his way to give me coal, but enough to make him hesitate to give me any swag.’

 

She was very like you in that at a very young age she was almost impossibly talented at magic. I didn’t realize it at the time, because I was very gifted myself, and because I was so competitive that I considered it an insult to have anyone in the same league as me but her abilities were not at all representative of her age. With a wave of her hand she transfigured my wall into a chalk board and began to write on it as if she was some brilliant lecturer instead of an impoverished orphan. 

 

‘The trouble is, you’re probably thinking, is that assholes like Billy Stubbs get presents from Santa even when you don’t. Which makes it more likely that Santa is secretly Mrs. Cole who just dislikes you personally and gives all the other kids except you little things. I thought the same thing with my cousin but really the answer is that Santa works by a utilitarian standard.’

 

She grinned over at me as if she had just made some brilliant deduction of the workings of reality and that I should be very impressed. When I only gave her a blank look, not actually knowing what utilitarian meant at the time, she quickly began to elaborate.

 

‘Imagine morality not as morals, ambiguous unknown things that some big thing has written in a sky somewhere, like thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor, thou shalt not manipulate thy relatives and accidentally burn down the house, but instead are based on the outcome of a situation. Morals, aren’t morals, but instead are the various consequences to an action and a moral action is one that has more of a positive consequence than it does a negative one. For example, if Billy Stubbs decides to make fun of the antichrist in the playground, this is a positive action as it makes everyone else more relieved and assured than it makes Tom Riddle feel miserable.’

 

Here she had quickly drawn an equation where first was a picture of Billy Stubbs kicking me in the face to the delight of other children and my slight frustration and then an arrow to Billy receiving a bow tied rabbit.

 

She then looked at me, appearing to take me in piece by piece with eyes that were far too intent, and then asked, ‘Would you call yourself an incredibly happy person, Tom?’

 

Of course I wasn’t, I hated the orphanage, I hated the orphans, I hated almost everything I had ever encountered in my life. She didn’t even have to wait for a response though before she went on.

 

‘And when you establish your dominance over other squalling children through means of violence and terror do you get any real joy out of it? I mean, Christmas spirit, I understand Jesus, life is beautiful type of joy and not just vague satisfaction at having the pummeled and broken bodies of children at your feet.’

 

When I didn’t answer her eyes lit up and she offered me a too large grin as if my very silence had proved her right.

 

‘So you see, Tom, it’s all about perspective. Santa won’t come for you because you’re too miserable making other people miserable.’

 

I didn’t realize it at that specific moment, as I was busy throwing her out of my room for daring to insult me and slamming the door in her face, but I had just embarked on a month long project to make me a happier, nicer, child than Amy Bishop who was sure to get a second hand doll for the holidays.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this story, I must be beyond exhaustion.” Wizard Lenin muttered more to himself than to her looking a bit surprised at his own actions. It was more personal than Wizard Lenin had ever been before, certainly he was more free with the details. She usually only heard details this specific about the Hindenburg movement and even then it was sparse. She’d seen the young Wizard Lenin before, in the wardrobe burning memory, but that wasn’t really the same as a full blown story.

 

He must have been having similar thoughts because he was giving her an oddly evaluating look as if to see how she was taking it all. He must have been satisfied enough though because he continued without prompting from her.

 

“It started the next morning, at breakfast.

 

She sat down across from me at the conspicuously empty table that had always been mine before she arrived with that too cheerful grin and said, ‘My imaginary comrade is dubious of the outcome of this experiment but he can go to hell. I think it will be a success, we just have to find what makes you tick in a more Tiny Tim, God bless us everyone, manner.’

 

‘What?’

 

She ignored me and continued, ‘Now, we know you’re very into schadenfreude and just violence in general, and we have a lot of opportunities for that and if we don’t then we can easily make some.’

 

‘What are you talking about?’ I interrupted, because really, I had no idea. I had forgotten about the whole thing the day before and hadn’t realized that I was not only expected to write a letter to Santa of all things but to actually get what I asked for.

 

‘You, Christmas spirit, me getting stuff, old hat your shadowy and extremely violent excellency.’ She said in between bites of oatmeal eating with a speed and gusto that could only mean she was routinely starved before arriving at the orphanage because no one could appreciate that terrible food unless they were on the verge of death.

 

‘I’m not sending a letter to Santa!’ I said looking around to make sure no one was in earshot of the conversation, the last thing I needed was my reputation to be ruined by her for something as stupid as Christmas, ‘If you want a letter sent so badly do it yourself.’

 

She stared at me blankly for a moment, a too silent moment that stretched far too long, and then completely ignored everything I said, ‘So I was thinking today that we could start small and emotionally traumatize all the orphans and make you feel artificially superior.’

 

And we did, well she did, I stood and watched the disaster take place as she made each and every child in that orphanage cry either from physical violence or just her words. And afterwards, after Billy Stubbs wandered off trying to stifle tears through his swelling eye, she turned to me with a grin and asked, ‘So, feeling cheery?’

 

‘You just broke his nose!’

 

‘Really, well, maybe.’ She said peering after him with a slight frown, ‘I didn’t realize it was so flimsy. Still, that didn’t answer the satisfaction question.’

 

‘No! No I am not satisfied!’

 

The thing is I think she knew it wouldn’t work, because she had said as much the day before, that I didn’t really get any enjoyment out of others pains.

 

Despite what that bastard Dumbledore may say about me or anyone else who worked for me I am not a sadist, I do not get off on the pain of others, pain is convenient. It gets you what you want quickly and makes people think twice about spitting in your face; beyond that though it becomes tedious.

 

And she knew that, more than anyone else ever did, she knew why I did what I did. She simply felt, for whatever reason, that this first venture of her beating up children with me as an unwilling witness was a necessary action to take.

 

So she stared back at me with a small smile, placing her hands deep into her pockets, and said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to try a little harder.’

 

So for the rest of the month I was dragged on various adventures in downtown London, Diagon Alley, and beyond as we tried to connect to my inner happy child who would be more pleasing to Santa Claus than the normal Tom Riddle. Some were fairly ordinary such as hijacking the kitchen to bake and eat an absurd amount of cookies, others were less so like the time she took me to see wizards play Russian roulette only a little after it had been introduced to the wizarding world by Lily Riddle. Still, it seemed that every day in December when I wasn’t in class (and sometimes when I was), we were out and doing something vaguely holiday themed together.

 

The last day, the twenty fourth, we sat up on the roof looking at the stars.

 

‘People have this weird thing about stars.’ She said staring up at them, ‘I know an entire family that’s named after the shapes people think they make. The trouble is that I only ever see dots, tiny glittering dots years away, their light reaching out before them even after they have faded into obscurity.’

 

She then turned her head to look at me grinning, ‘But people also get ridiculously sentimental around them and Christmas is all about the sentiment.’

 

I never bought the Santa thing, before or after her intervention, and even as I more willingly went on adventures with her through that month I never believed it would get us anywhere but it didn’t seem to matter right then. The goal wasn’t the point, and laying out in the freezing cold, on top of the roof of the orphanage peering up into the sky it didn’t seem to matter at all.

 

Happiness is a real thing, Lily, more difficult to grasp than most people would lead you to believe but it does exist.

 

The next morning I received nothing for Christmas, neither did she as she’d gained something of a reputation at the orphanage as well, and we both sat and stared as Billy Stubbs received a second hand wooden soldier and Amy Bishop a new doll.

 

‘Goddammit!’ She said pulling a hand through her hair, ‘I really could have used that time machine.’

 

‘Or death ray?’

 

‘Well, that was just a bonus, because you know you never know when you’re going to need a death ray.’ She sighed looking over at me and once again I had the feeling that she had known all along that she wasn’t going to succeed, that it all had been pointless, because she smiled anyway and threw her hands up in the air.

 

‘Oh well, that just means more tedious work for me.’

 

Then in a tone saved for grand proclamations or toasts she said to me, ‘Merry Christmas, bane of humanity, may the spirit of baby Jesus instill some vague semblance of happiness in both of our lives.’

 

And I decided right then and there that I would never, ever, celebrate Christmas again even under pain of death. And I never have.”

 

As the story ended Lily listened for its echoes trying to catch it’s meaning but somehow she felt she had missed something vital. It wrapped up neatly in a little bow as all obligatory Christmas specials had to do but it seemed kind of meaningless at the end of things. Little Lenin wasn’t greatly changed, red headed friend was no less mysterious and was probably in fact more mysterious, and above all Lily was wondering if she was supposed to have that happy Christmas feeling that aunt Petunia always got when Lily caught her watching “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

 

“That’s it?” Lily asked finally and it was almost sad how she predicted both the headache and the glaring from Wizard Lenin.

 

“Yes, Lily, that’s it.”

 

“Well, I mean, it was all very Christmasy and relevant to the dream theme it just seemed kind of… Well…” Lily searched for the word but couldn’t find it.

 

“Right.” Wizard Lenin responded with a flat expression when the silence stretched on too long, “Well, I think it’s time you left. We’ll discuss the stone tomorrow.”

 

The Christmas decorations disappeared as if they were never there in the first place and Lily was left to wander back into the world of reality thinking that Death probably would have had a better holiday themed tale. Still, she thought, it was a nice story all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone at some point asked about Wizard Lenin's mysterious childhood and his friendships. So we got this heartwarming holiday tale.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated.


End file.
